Acerbus Angelus
by Dalyon
Summary: ON HIATUS After running away from the Dursleys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by those above him, he killed for his power. AU Post OotP
1. Introductions

**This is just an idea I have been thinking about for a while. It's different than my other fic, but I think you'll like it. If you don't, well, shit happens. Before anyone worries though, I will not be abandoning Of Blood and Power. I will simply be writing two stories at once, or attempting to.**

**Summary: After running away from the Dursleys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by those above him, he killed for his power. Discovered by the world that betrayed him, he was forced to accept his destiny. But a person can change a lot over eleven years, and Harry Potter has become something they would never expect.**

**Acerbus Angelus: Dark Angel**

* * *

September, 1985

The silence of night was broken by a soft scrapping sound, and a thin blade was slipped between the cupboard door and the wall. Traveling up, the blade came in contact with the latch that kept the door locked. The force on the knife increased, and the lever fell out of the catch.

The door slowly swung open, and a small boy crept out from the cupboard. Emerald green eyes scanned the dark hallway, and keen ears listened for any noise.

Satisfied that his relatives were still asleep, the boy walked soundlessly through the dark house. He had smuggled the knife from the kitchen table, which he considered quite a feat. His aunt had been watching him like a hawk throughout dinner.

Retrieving the pillow case he had stashed earlier, the boy checked the contents. There was a small loaf of bread, and a few pounds that he had nicked from his careless uncle's coat pocket. It wasn't much, but he wouldn't have to worry about food for a few days.

He had often gone longer without.

Coming to the front entrance, he turned the lock as quietly as possible. There was a satisfying 'click', and the boy slipped through the open doorway.

The darkness enveloped him as he walked silently across the front lawn, but there was no fear on his part. After four years in the cupboard under the stairs, he was quite used to it.

But no more.

The boy had taken all he would. Never again would he answer to another. From now on, it was just him. Nobody else. He would go it alone, as he always had.

Walking briskly down Privet Drive, Harry James Potter disappeared into the black of night.

It would be a long time before he was found.

* * *

June, 1996

Sunlight poured down from the enchanted ceiling as the fifth years entered the Great Hall. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and the History of Magic exams laying before them would be their last. That known fact was rather comforting for Melissa Potter.

Like all fifth year Ravenclaws, she had studied arduously, but the pressure of the seemingly endless exams was beginning to take its toll.

Tying back her dark red hair, emerald eyes scanned the Great Hall. Many of her fellow fifth years looked exhausted, and oddly enough, that gave her a reassuring thought. At least she wasn't the only one. Her friend Tracey was sitting a few rows over, glaring at Malfoy with disgust as he sat down in front of her.

Catching Melissa's eye, the dark haired girl gave her a slight smile. Though they were in different houses, the two were good friends. Ravenclaw and Slytherin generally got along fine, unlike Slytherin and Gryffindor.

That may have had something to do with Professor Snape though, who was seemingly on an anti-lion crusade. That no doubt stemmed from his own school days, and his feud between the Marauders.

Melissa couldn't help but smile when she thought of them. Over the past few years, Sirius and Remus had filled a parental role of sorts. One she never had at the orphanage. While she was closer to the werewolf than the convict, she couldn't wait to return to Grimmauld Place for the summer.

Thoughts like that though, ultimately led back to family. In turn, thoughts of family ultimately led back to her twin brother.

Her heart ached slightly as she thought of Harry. It had been over ten years since he disappeared from their aunt's house. And while Melissa had never met the woman, she figured Harry wouldn't have left without good reason.

She could never fathom the Headmaster's thought process involved in the decision he made. Why was it necessary to split the siblings up? Scant memories were all she had of her twin brother. Had Dumbledore honestly thought he was doing the right thing?

At least Melissa had a happy, if not desirable, childhood. But would Harry have ran away if he had the same?

After he escaped from Azkaban, Sirius had wept upon learning of his godson's disappearance. The tears had quickly turned to rage though, and the animagus had nearly attacked Dumbledore. Harry was still a touchy subject around the ex-convict, who clung on to what meager hope there was.

Harry James Potter had vanished, and Melissa could only pray that she would one day see her twin again.

* * *

The return of Harry Potter was also among Albus Dumbledore's prayers. When he wasn't busy running Hogwarts, advising the ministry, and fighting Voldemort, that is.

Only recently, after Albus provided indisputable evidence, had Fudge accepted the Dark Lord's return. The minister had been denying it ever since Melissa Potter arrived back in the middle of the Hogwarts lawn, clutching Cedric Diggory's dead body.

The past year had been most difficult. He had been stripped of his various positions after telling people of the Dark Lord's rebirth. Fudge had refused to cooperate, saying that Albus was trying to unseat him and disrupt the sense of peace the minister had accomplished.

Albus was still trying to comprehend what Fudge meant by the word 'peace'.

The corrupt politician had finally come around though, and Albus could only hope it wasn't too late. They were lucky Tom hadn't amassed many followers yet. For some reason, he was obsessed with the prophecy, and had spent the past year trying to obtain it.

Albus couldn't understand the reasoning behind it, unless Tom knew that Harry Potter was alive.

If the boy lived though, where was he? Albus had searched for years, before admitting defeat. Even the school owls had been unable to find Harry, and the Hogwarts letters had all returned unopened.

More so every day, Albus was haunted by the choice that he made. Minerva had been right, he should have never left Harry at the Dursleys' house. At the time though, he had thought it for the best.

The blood wards would have protected the boy, so why would he ever leave?

"ALBUS!"

The loud voice broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked around for the source of the noise. There was a square mirror on his desk, buried beneath a mass of papers. It was of the two-way variety, and the Order members used them to communicate.

Turning the small mirror over, he was met by the heart-shaped face of Nymphadora Tonks. Her hair was changing colors rapidly, and she appeared to be out of breath.

"Albus!" the young Auror said, panting heavily. "Break-in . . . . Department of Mysteries. . . . come quick."

The connection was abruptly cut off, and the twinkle faded in Albus Dumbledore's blue eyes. It appeared that Tom had grown tired of waiting.

* * *

Sweat was beginning to trickle down Harry Potter's face as he made his way through the seemingly endless rows of shelves. They towered high to the ceiling, and were covered in small, dusty, glass orbs.

The room was very cold, but that didn't bother him. He had become familiar with it over the years.

If they could see their Golden Boy now, Harry thought darkly. He was certainly not what they would expect.

Raven hair hung to his shoulders, pulled pack in a pony tail. The famous scar was on his forehead, and piercing green eyes held a powerful, yet defiant look. His brown cloak was worn and battered, veteran of too manyharsh winters. The robe he wore was rather nice though. It was emerald in color, the stylish cut revealing his lithe build. It flowed down to basilisk hide boots, which were still relatively new.

The robe and boots would both suggest wealth on the owners part, as they were rather expensive. Like what little else Harry Potter owned though, he hadn't paid for them.

Glancing down at his watch, he swore. It had been ten minutes since he knocked out the guard, and he had just gotten to the prophecy room. He would need another five minutes to find the right orb, and he still had to make an escape afterwards. He hadn't missed the two-way mirror, and was pretty sure the guard had used it before he stunned her.

Which meant the cavalry was on the way.

He hurried his pace, all but running past row sixty-nine. Knowledge of the prophecy had come through his scar, which acted like a connection between him and the Dark Lord. It had been September when he began to have dreams of a long corridor ending in a closed door.

As the dreams were not his, Harry quickly deduced them to be the Dark Lord's. Voldemort was obsessed with the corridor, even in his sleep, which meant that Harry was having visions of it as well.

They were rather bothersome, and after a month of losing sleep, he had resolved to learning Occlumency.

It had been a difficult task, to say the least. Books on mind magic were scarce, and as usual, Harry had no one to teach him. Learning the counter art of Legilemency had helped immensely, along with months of hard work His mental shields were now strong enough to keep Voldemort out, and the dreams no longer disturbed his sleep.

Harry's curiosity had been piked though, and memory of the corridor would not go away.

He had found, that by lowering his Occlumency shields, he could use his scar to access the Dark Lord's subconscious. Voldemort didn't guard this part of his mind like he did the rest, and Harry had easily broken through the lesser walls. He quickly learned of the prophecy, and a few other things.

As long as he was careful, the Dark Lord never sensed his presence.

Coming to row ninety-seven, he turned, and started scanning the shelves. A little way down the row he found it. The dusty sphere seemed to be calling to him, if that was possible. In black letters was a date of some sixteen years previous, and written beneath that:

**S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D.**

**Dark Lord**

**and (?) Harry Potter**

Harry stared at it. Like Voldemort, he only knew the first part of the prophecy. He had broken into the Department of Mysteries in hope of learning the rest. And maybe get a few explanations.

Like how the hell he was supposed to defeat the Dark Lord.

Giving a slight shrug, he closed his fingers around the glass ball. A feeling of warmth passed through him as he picked it up, as though the light within the sphere was heating it.

Pocketing the orb, Harry couldn't help but smirk. A street ruffian just managed to do what Voldemort had been dreaming of for the past year.

Maybe this Dark Lord wasn't so great.

He pulled up the hood of his cloak as he swiftly backtracked toward the door. He had to get out of this place, and fast. Before Dumbledore and the Bird Club arrived. Though he supposed getting caught by the Hogwarts Headmaster was better than getting caught by the ministry.

If Dumbledore caught him, the game would be up. The Headmaster would no doubt enroll him at Hogwarts, which Harry had no interest in attending. He was pretty sure the school curriculum didn't include the sort of things he had learned over the years.

Getting caught by the ministry, on the other hand. . . . .

Harry briefly remembered the _Daily Prophet_ article from the year before. Some bloke had been sentenced to six months in Azkaban for trespassing and attempted robbery. He had been caught trying to force his way through a top security ministry door at one o'clock in the morning.

Which just happened to be the exact same thing Harry was doing. Give or take a few hours.

Hogwarts or Azkaban.

Harry shivered at the thought of the dread fortress. That soon led to Dementors, which made him shiver even more.

It wasn't much of a choice, he'd take Hogwarts.

Stepping up his pace, he quickly came to the room with the veil. The door on the other side of the chamber led to the lifts, which led back up to the atrium. Once there, he would be outside the wards, and could simply apparate out.

He was halfway across the chamber when he heard a noise. Freezing in his steps, he strained his ears, and listened intently. The noise came again, and Harry immediately recognized it as the swish of a robe.

"_Stupefy_!" several voices yelled.

As the jets of red light shot toward him, Harry drew his wand with blazing speed. A beam of raw power erupted from the end of it, and he heard a satisfying crunch, before six stunners hit him.

The force knocked Harry backward, and darkness swept over him. He heard a groan of pain from one of his attackers, before he promptly blacked out.


	2. Escape

**Summary: After running away from the Dursleys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by ****those above him, he killed for his power. Discovered by the world that betrayed him, ****he was forced to accept his destiny. But a person can change a lot over eleven years, and Harry Potter has become something they would never expect.**

**Acerbus Angelus: Dark Angel**

* * *

"Department of Mysteries," the cool female voice informed them as the lift stopped on the bottom level of the Ministry. They stepped out into a corridor where nothing was moving save the dancing flames of the nearest torch, flickering in the rush of air that accompanied the lift.

"Albus!"

At the exclamation, all five wizards raised their wands in reflex. Only to lower them when they recognized the young man with silver-streaked hair.

"Lysander," the Headmaster greeted his former student. "We came at Nymphadora's call."

"Of course," the aforementioned Lysander said as he reached the Order members. The young man nodded to Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Remus, and Sirius respectively, having met them at previous Order meetings.

Several Unspeakables had joined the cause after the death of Broderick Bode, their colleague murdered in St. Mungo's last winter.

"Follow me," the Unspeakable said, leading them through the stone corridors of the Ministry's most secretive branch.

"We responded to an alarm charm that went off in the Prophecy Room," Lysander said, opening a door with a murmured password. "It was the one you suggested we place on the 'Potter Orb'.

Sirius and Remus gasped slightly, while Moody's eye spun even faster. Lysander just looked to the Headmaster, who eyes had lost some of the twinkle, and continued at Albus' nod.

"When we arrived, the wards had been disabled and Tonks was unconsciousness.

"She was alright," the Unspeakable quickly reassured them, seeing the worry on their faces. "We sent her over to Mungo's with Marcus Phelps. He got hit with some sort of curse, broke a few ribs."

"Did you manage to catch the perpetrator?" Moody growled, magical eye spinning in what appeared to be, oddly enough, excitement. The grizzled ex-Auror was already reliving his glory days. Dark wizards around every corner, each stranger an assassin in disguise.

"Yes, we managed to catch him," Lysander said, opening a nondescript black door that led to an office. Surprisingly, there was a small smile playing at the man's mouth

"Were you able to identify them?" Albus asked, controlling his impatience. The younger man seemed to take pleasure in knowing what his former Headmaster did not.

The Unspeakable hummed an affirmative, his eyes shifting to Sirius for some reason.

"We were," Lysander said. "It was quite easy, in fact."

Ignoring the others annoyance, the silver haired man tapped one of the office walls in a rapid pattern, muttering a few words under his breath. To the surprise of all save Kingsley and Moody, the wood paneling vanished completely, leaving a transparent wall in its wake.

It was a two-way wall, similar to the large mirrors found in muggle interrogation rooms. It allowed them to view suspects, while the person on the other side would just see a plane mirror.

Or in the case of magical innovation, a regular wall.

On the other side was a nondescript white room with a wooden table in the center. On opposite sides of the table was a chair built of a similar material.

It wasn't the chairs that made the five newcomers gasp in shock though, but the person sitting in one.

Facing the two-way wall was a handsome young man with shoulder length black hair. He had emerald eyes that were rather familiar.

There was a scar visible on his forehead, in the shape of a lightening bolt.

"Harry?"

* * *

Preservative instincts.

Those weresomething Harry developed all on his own. They had been necessary; as a young boy trying to survive in an unforgiving world. His time at the Dursleys had been hell, but he realized one thing. The lessons that he learned then, made him the person he was today.

A survivor.

There had been other 'lessons' over the years. Things that were taught by others or that he picked-up himself. Over time, these had accumulated, until they became a mental guidebook of sorts. Rules to which he adhered. And one in particular was of the utmost importance.

Never get caught.

He learned that one soon after leaving the Dursleys, when he discovered that his scar brought unwanted attention. And the inevitable questions that followed. Seeing as that rule was already broken though, he could quickly move on to the next.

If caught, escape.

* * *

The walls were completely white in color. The chamber devoid of anything save a wooden table and two chairs. An interrogation room if he had ever seen one.

Unfortunately, Harry Potter had.

As such, he knew the routine and what to expect. He also knew what to look for. If he cocked his head just right, he could see the slight glimmer on the wall opposite him, telltale sign of a Two-way Charm. It had been developed by an eccentric American Auror back in the 60's; she had been overly obsessed with muggle spy novels.

It was a rather complicated and obscure bit of magic, and for some inane reason, restricted. Harry had only come across it once over the years, and the circumstances then were similar to the one he was in now.

Disturbingly so.

A door on the left side of the room swung open, and in walked three men, all wearing nondescript gray robes. Entirely too nondescript. There was no insignia on them whatsoever, which gave Harry reason to frown. He knew of only one type of Ministry worker that didn't advertize what Department they belonged to.

Unspeakables.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," the man in the lead said. He was of middle age, with blue eyes and wavy brown hair. "Its been a rather exciting afternoon, wouldn't you agree?"

Harry merely stared at the wall, showing no reaction whatsoever. He had been interrogated before, by creatures not opposed to inflicting bodily harm. These Unspeakables could do no worse.

They would get what answers he threw them.

Brushing off the lack of response, the brown haired man took a seat in the remaining chair, and pointed to his two companions, a dark skinned man and one with hair that was, oddly enough, green.

"The man on the left, Mr. Potter, is Arrian Marshal, Level Seven Unspeakable. The one on the right is Armand Green, Level Five Unspeakable.

"My name is Calius Croaker," the man said, placing two wands on the table that Harry recognized as his own. "The Deputy Director of the Department of Mysteries."

Harry supposed he should have been impressed. But at the present time, the only thing he could ponder was why a man named Green would allow his hair to be the same color.

And why place his wands right before him? He could have summoned them with a mental thought. The sight of his wands though, caused Harry to remember something else, and emerald eyes widened ever so slightly.

Turning his foot carefully to avoid detection, he felt the hilt of a knife press against his ankle. Repeating the motion with the opposite foot, he realized his dagger was in that one as well.

Harry nearly snorted. The fools!

They had disarmed him of the obvious, and in doing so, had missed the blade in each boot and the potions belt at his waist. Of course, that may have had something to do with the numerous Parsel glamour charms that concealed them from unwanted eyes.

"You were caught in the Department of Mysteries this afternoon, Mr. Potter," the man, Croaker, continued. "Under rather mysterious circumstances if I may say so myself."

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that. Caught in the Department of Mysteries under mysterious circumstances by people, who for a living, solve mysteries.

Lovely, was it not?

"You have been charged with trespassing, disabling Ministry wards, robbery, destruction of property, and assault of a Ministry employee."

Assault! The bloke would have a collapsed lung at worst! And destruction of property? Did that mean the orb was broken?

Broken?

Emerald eyes widening slightly once more, and Harry shifted in his seat, clandestinely getting a feel of the chairs weight. Not to heavy, but rather sturdy. It would work well. He would have to grasp it by the back of course, and be quick with the. . . . . . .

"You, yourself, disappeared from your guardian's home eleven years ago, Mr. Potter," the Croaker bloke said, dragging Harry from his quickly formatting plan. "The circumstances surrounding the event are rather unclear, but if you're willing to answers our questions, I'm pretty sure tonight's charges can be dropped."

Harry really didn't give a shit what the bloke was pretty sure about. He did need a distraction though.

"One of our colleagues is at St. Mungo's in serious condition, Mr. Potter," Croaker said, getting annoyed at Harry lack of response. "A most unfortunate incident, and the Unspeakables protect their own."

Showtime! Harry thought, planting his feet just right.

"Tell that to Rookwood," he said quietly, gripping the chair behind his back with one hand.

Whether it was surprise at finally hearing him speak, or anger at the traitor's name, something caused all three Unspeakables to freeze momentarily, giving Harry the opportunity needed.

Rising to his feet with graceful speed, he threw the chair at the Unspeakables near the door. It took the green haired one by surprise, hitting him directly in the face and causing a nasty 'crunch'.

Blood poured from the man's crushed noise, and the momentum of the blow sent him into his partner.

Turning back to Croaker, Harry shoved the heavy table into the man's stomach, and summoned each of his wands with a thought. The slender pieces of wood flew into his hands, and he pivoted, hitting Marshal and Green with a stunner each.

"_Naytrus_," Harry muttered, pointing the left hand wand at Croaker as the wheezing man went for his own. Heavy metal chains flew out of the tip, wrapping tightly around the Deputy Director, and sending him to the floor.

The door to the interrogation room burst open, and an Unspeakable with silver-streaked hair ran in, followed by a dark skinned man and one with a magical eye.

"_Droknar!_" Harry shouted, sending all three crashing into the hallway with an illegal Bludgeoning Curse. With a sickening crunch, they slid to the floor, unconscious.

Harry jumped through the door after them, hurdling over their bodies and skidding to a halt as a tall, dark haired man ran out of a nearby room. He froze in place, as did the older man. They both stood there for a moment, staring at each other intently.

There was something oddly familiar about the elegant black hair, gray eyes and dog-like scent. Something he couldn't put his wand on. Frowning slightly, Harry suddenly remembered where he was.

"_Stupefy_."

The stunner hit the man straight in the chest, and he was unconscious before he had time to react. Unfortunately, the earlier commotion seemed to have alerted the entire Department, and office doors flung open as Harry ran down the stone corridors, sending curses over his shoulder.

It was all too familiar.

Dodging a powerful stunner that came from behind, he elbowed an unlucky Unspeakable in the face as they were rasing their wand. He dove into the open office, utilizing what little cover the doorway provided.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," Harry muttered, flicking his wand in the simple flying charm. The unconscious Unspeakable rose a few feet off the ground, and Harry floated him into the open hallway.

"_Amplifico Pello!_" The Advanced Banishing Charm sent the Unspeakable flying down the corridor, knocking over his comrades and eliciting a series of indignant swears.

Harry snorted.

Spells and power were all well and good, but it was innovation that won a duel. Something he learned firsthand over the years.

Of course, Harry reminded himself, a fair bit of luck never hurt.

Coming to a dead end corridor, he swore softly in half a dozen tongues. A shout from behind alerted him, and he ducked in time to avoid the volley of stunners.

Thinking fast, Harry pointed both wands at the wall to his left. "_Flagan Drastio!_" he shouted, and twin curses erupted from the ends, causing the slender wands to buckle. Memories of Moscow flashed through his mind as the dark beams hit, tearing apart the masonry and leaving a gaping hole behind.

Harry didn't hesitate, but dove through the hole in the wall head first, narrowly missing a dozen more stunners. He rolled onto his feet and came up with wands in hand, a series of curses on the tip of his tongue.

Only to find himself in an empty office. Raising an eyebrow, he walked quickly across the room and opened the door. The corridor he entered was deathly quiet, and somewhat familiar as well.

Flaring his nostrils in canine-like fashion, he could smell his scent in the air.

It was the same corridor that led to the Prophecy Room. At the other end of the hallway was the Veil Chamber, which led to the lifts. From there, he could hop a ride back to the top, and a short apparation jump later, he'd be home free.

Home? Was there such a thing?

Of course, Harry reminded himself as the doors behind him flew open, there was always Mr. Murphy to fuck things up.

Sending a volley of curses over his shoulder, he ran full tilt toward the door at the end off the hall. It burst open at his wandless command, and he dove through headfirst, sealing it after him with a flick of his wand.

"Most impressive, Mr. Potter," a wizened voice said from behind him.

Harry spun on his heel, raising both wands in reflex.

"Oh, Shit."

* * *

**Just to warn you, updates on this fic may be a bit sporadic. Things are kind of hectic right now, and my other story is my first priority. I will try to update at least twice a month, though.**

**Cheers!**


	3. Answers Alluded To

**Summary: After running away from the Dursleys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by those above him, he killed for his power. Discovered by the world that betrayed him, he was forced to accept his destiny. But a person can change a lot over eleven years, and Harry Potter has become something they would never expect.**

**Acerbus Angelus: Dark Angel**

* * *

Trained instincts took over immediately, and Harry dove to the side, firing a Stunner from each wand as he did. The old man merely swatted them away with a lazy flick of his wand, sending the powerful beams into the stone floor. Harry wasn't really surprised, as he didn't expect any less from Albus Dumbledore. Rolling onto his feet, he pivoted, both wands aimed at Lord Grindelwald's defeater. 

He sure could pick 'em.

"I mean you no harm, Mr. Potter," the old man said, watching Harry closely from behind half-moon spectacles. "I merely wish to talk."

"Is that right?" Harry asked cooly, wands still trained on the old man's heart. "And what makes you think I wish the same?"

Piercing blue eyes evaluated him, and Harry raised his Occlumency shields just in case.

"Answers, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said softly, his own wand held loosely at his side. "I have no doubt that it was answers which brought you here tonight."

"Oh?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what gives you that idea?"

The Headmaster sighed heavily, making him look much older than he had moments before.

"Its been nearly fifteen years, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, a hint of regret in his voice. "Fifteen years of not knowing what you truly are. . . . . . .or why you were separated from your sister. . . . . why you were left in your Aunt's care."

Emerald eyes narrowed dangerously when Dumbledore mentioned the Dursleys, and a cold look passed over Harry's face. The Headmaster did not miss the sudden change, and the odd twinkle vanished from his aquamarine eyes.

"And I suppose you can provide me with those answers?" Harry growled, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the wands. The old man merely looked at him, paying no mind to the wands that could quickly end his life.

"You were left at your Aunt's house for a reason, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore began. What that reason was though, Harry would never know. For at that moment, the previously sealed door burst open and several people ran through, led by the man with silver-streaked hair.

The group immediately saw Harry, and ignoring Dumbledore's voice, made the mistake of raising their wands against him.

They got no further.

"_Flipendo!_" Harry yelled, knocking them back through the doorway with a jet of blue light.

Turning quickly, he ran for the door at the other side of the chamber, sending hexes at Dumbledore from over his shoulder. He hurtled the stone benches two at a time, and blasted the nearest door apart with a beam of raw power. Diving through the opening, he narrowly avoided the Stunners that came from behind.

The room he came upon contained the floating brains, and paying them no mind, Harry walked briskly toward the door on the opposite wall. That door in turn led to a familiar circular room, and the wall started rotating the moment he entered. Blue flames flickered from their mounted torches, and Harry stood still, waiting for the ride to stop.

The wall eventually came to a halt with a loud rumbling sound, and Harry hissed an expletive in Parseltongue, mentally cursing the Unspeakables and their security measures. The fiery X's he used earlier had now faded, leaving all the doors identical.

"Where's the exit?" he asked hopefully, not really expecting the room to come through. Surprisingly enough, the door behind him flew open, and the corridor to the lifts stretched out ahead of him, torch-lit and empty.

"Okay. . . . ." Harry said slowly, pondering what just happened. Not one to complain about good fortune, he gave a mental shrug and ran down the passageway. Maneuvering through the shadows, his basilisk hide boots were soundless on the stone floor. He rounded the nearest corner, and immediately pushed the button to call the lift.

So far so good.

Unfortunately, the lift jangled and banged as it lowered, causing Harry to wince as he mentally cursed the loud contraption. It was making enough noise to alert the entire ministry of his presence, which would only hinder his chances of getting out.

But then again, Harry reminded himself, he _did_ escape from Novgorod. This was child's play compared to the archaic city.

Forcing the golden gates open when the lift reached the top, he was pleasantly surprised to find the Atrium completely empty. Perhaps his famous luck was holding up. Right as Harry went to disapparate though, and unwelcome voice came from behind, causing him to freeze in his tracks.

"Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?"

* * *

The note had appeared sometime during dinner. How? She couldn't exactly say. All she knew was that when she left the Great Hall there was a folded piece of parchment in her pocket, where before there wasn't. 

_Melissa - _

_Please report to my office after dinner. Come alone and make sure you're not followed. Remus will be there to explain everything._

_- Albus Dumbledore_

It was short and to the point. And as often was the case when the eccentric Headmaster was concerned, it raised more questions than it answered.

Damn riddles, Melissa thought irritably. Was the man cryptic by nature?

Leaving her friends with a with a quick devised excuse, she made her way through the stone corridors, throwing a glance over her shoulder as she went. It wouldn't do to be spotted by Umbridge, who still suspected her of defying ministry decrees. And rightly so, Melissa thought with no small sense of pride. The D.A. had flourished right beneath the High Inquisitor's very noise, despite her best efforts to discover and prevent it.

The bitch.

Shefrequented the Headmaster's office often enough to know the password, and the stone gargoyle leapt aside, allowing her access to the spiral staircase. The stone steps began to rise as she stepped onto the magical escalator, and she was soon standing before a handsome oak door.

Which was effectively flung open before she could grasp the knocker.

"Moony?" she asked hesitantly upon seeing her Godfather. The werewolf appeared uncharacteristically excited, practically bouncing on his feet as he dragged her into the Headmaster's office.

"What's going?" Melissa asked, frowning as the man shoved a blackened teapot into her hands. She dearly hoped it was a Portkey; if not, then Remus really was losing it like Sirius so often joked.

The whole thing was rather fishy, and her analytical Ravenclaw mind didn't appreciate it one bit. Her frown deepened as a large smile spread across her guardian's face, and the greying man activated the Portkey with a muttered, "_Portus_."

"We found Harry," was the last thing Melissa heard before the familiar tug appeared behind her navel.

* * *

For what seemed like the hundredth time in recent memory, Harry spun on his heel, raising both wands as he mentally cursed persistent Headmasters. 

"Can't you take a hint?" he groaned, taking a step back to distance himself from the old man.

"I did say we have matters which to discuss, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling madly. "And don't bother trying to disapparate, I put the appropriate wards in place."

Harry merely frowned at the Headmaster and tried anyway, giving another groan when the Anti-Disapparating wards prevented him. That effectively eliminated one of his main dueling tactics.

"I did warn you," the old man said, for some reason looking amused.

"How thoughtful," Harry said sarcastically, before snapping off a series of Stunners. Needless to say, Dumbledore deflected them all, before flicking his wand and sending his own at Harry. The power behind it caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end, and Harry dove to the side, narrowly missing the one that followed.

Apparently the man's old age did not hinder his dueling skill.

"_Matrian_," Harry muttered, pointing his right hand wand at Dumbledore. A yellow orb sped toward the old man, causing the air to crackle with magic. Dumbledore merely waved his wand toward the fountain in the middle of the Atrium, and the stone centaur galloped forward. It took the curse right in the chest, and shattered into a hundred pieces.

Using his knack at improvising, Harry flicked his wand, banishing the largest debris strait toward the Headmaster. Dumbledore quickly muttered an incantation, and a bright yellow dome surrounded him, pulverizing the pieces of stone as they hit.

"_Arvado Telia!"_ the old man said, flicking his wand sharply. A pure white beam shot across the hall, forcing Harry to conjure a silver shield out of thin air. The spell, which he didn't recognize, caused no visible damage to the shield, though a deep, gong-like note echoed across the Atrium when it hit.

"You're skilled at Transfiguration, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore commented, eyes twinkling for some reason. "Few are powerful enough to manipulate silver."

"I try," Harry muttered dryly, ducking in time to avoid Dumbledore's next Stunner. Taking a page out of the Mugwumps's book, he waved his left hand wand at the atrocious fountain in the middle of the Atrium. The stone wizard sprung to life and leapt from its plinth, landing next to Dumbledore and kicking the old man in the shin. The elder wizard, caught by surprise, winced as the stone foot hit. Flicking his wand in a slightly annoyed gesture, Dumbledore blasted the statue apart, sending the pieces clear across the Atrium.

Harry, not one to waste an opportunity, had already muttered a long incantation in Chinese. Thrusting his wand forward in a sharp motion, a long, serpentine dragon erupted from the end of it. Made of red flames, it distorted the air as it flew toward Dumbledore

"_Gertral Aquataris!"_ Dumbledore intoned, calmly pointing his wand at the magically-made dragon. A water-born Phoenix flew out of the slender piece of wood, effectively drenching the fiery reptile and filling the Atrium with billows of steam.

Trying to end the duel before he had to resort to lethality, Harry used the clouds of vapor to his advantage.

"_Ventosus!_" A powerful gust of wind blew from each wand, sending the steam into Dumbledore's and obscuring his vision. With a wave of his wand though, the old man parted the mist, banishing it away. He drew his wand back in one fluid motion, and waved it as though brandishing a whip. A long, thin flame flew from the tip, and Harry barely had time to conjure a dark green shield before it wrapped around him. Hissing a counter-curse in Parseltongue, the fiery rope turned into a serpent, which relinquished its hold on Harry immediately, and turned to face the Hogwarts Headmaster.

"**Disable him!"** Harry hissed once more in the serpent tongue. The giant snake reared its head and slithered toward Dumbledore, who set aside his shock long enough to banish it in a cloud of dark smoke. The cobra had succeeded in distracting him though, and the old man failed to notice the attack coming from his flank. With a flick of Harry's wand, the stone house elf and goblin charged toward him from the now destroyed fountain, and Dumbledore didn't have time to react.

"_Reducto!_" two voices bellowed from near the lifts. The statues were blown apart by the powerful Reductors, and the Atrium was showered with bits of stone.

Mentally cursing the intruders, Harry turned and sent a volley of Stunners at them from each wand. The greying man and the girl with dark red hair were forced to dive to the side, temporarily taking themselves out of the fight.

"_Stupefy!_ _Mutatio Panthera!_" Harry said, sending a Stunner toward the Mugwump with one wand, while waving the other at the remains of the goblin statue. The biggest piece of stone morphed into a large cat, which leapt toward Dumbledore, distracting him long enough for Harry to make a run toward the red telephone box.

The folding door sprung open with a flick of his wrist, and Harry threw himself into the booth, slamming the door shut behind him. The floor slowly rose from beneath him, shuttering under the impact of Dumbledore's desperate spells. Rolling his eyes at the Headmaster's persistence, Harry left the old man with a one fingered salute, and the Atrium disappeared from sight.

* * *

Melissa sat quietly as the emergency meeting of the Order of the Phoenix began later that night. The kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place was nearly full, with only a few members left to arrive. Made-Eye, Kingsley, Lysander Thayne, and several Unspeakables sat in the corner, Madame Pomfrey tending to their injuries. 

The irony of the situation was not lost on Melissa. Mere hours ago she was finishing her O.W.L. exams, and now she was attending her first Order meeting, the Headmaster allowing her to sit-in due to the circumstances. Several of the members eyed her curiously as they walked in, many not having met her before. Some even protested to her presence at the meeting; Molly Weasley being the most vocal about the young Ravenclaw's inclusion.

They protested, that is, until Remus threatened to rip them apart limb by limb. The werewolf could be rather. . . . . . intimidating. . . . . . when necessary.

And a tad overprotective at times.

"You okay?" a familiar voice asked from beside her. Melissa turned and looked into the amber eyes of her godfather. He looked slightly concerned, though his face retained its usual calm demeanor. Unlike a few hours ago in Dumbledore's office; Melissa had never seen the former Defense professor that excited.

"Fine," she murmured, holding back a yawn. It had been a rather long day, and only the zest of the current situation was keeping her awake. Sirius, on the other hand, was practically bouncing in his chair next to them, a large grin plastered across his face.

Remus merely rolled his eyes at the convict's behavior.

"What?" Sirius asked indignantly.

"Oh nothing," the werewolf said, shaking his head. "I would think that one would be rather subdued just after regaining consciousness."

"Bah," Sirius responded, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal. "It was all a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Melissa asked, amusement shining in her emerald eyes. "Dumbledore had to use Ennervate on you _three_ times before you came around. I would hardly call that a misunderstanding. I doubt Harry stunned you by accident."

"Nonsense," the Animagus said, dismissing the very idea. "I'm positive that were I simply to have introduced myself, this all would have been avoided."

"Oh yes," Remus commented, showing a rare bit of sarcasm. "I have no doubt your godson would have surrendered willingly, if only you had told him you were Sirius Orion Black, the great and all knowing Sirius Orion Black."

"The wise and powerful," Melissa chipped in.

"Righteous and moral," Remus added.

"Mangy and dog-like."

"Ill-tempered and foul-smelling."

They were both forced to duck at that point, due to the numerous hexes sent their way by the angry con.

"Worry not, Padfoot old friend," Remus quickly informed him, laughing as he held up his hands in mock surrender. "You don't smell like shit _all_ the time."

"Of course not," Melissa added innocently. "As long as you remember to lick your - "

"Hem, hem!" a voice coughed from the head of the table, causing all three to jump in their seats. It would seem, that during their minor dispute, the rest of the Order members had arrived. Said members were currently watching Melissa and the others with avid attention, though a few looked rather scandalized at the exchange. Snape on the other hand, was watching Sirius get teased with a wicked smirk on his face, while the eyes of Albus Dumbledore were twinkling madly.

"Perhaps you could save your discussion for later, Miss Potter? Hmm?" the Headmaster asked serenely, mouth twitching beneath his snowy white beard. Melissa blushed, nodding her head fervently in response.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore beamed, clapping his hands once. "Now, as you all have no doubt heard, a minor incident took place earlier today in the Department of Mysteries."

At the word 'minor', many of the Order members raised their eyebrows, no doubt wondering what their leader meant. Alastor and Kingsley were two of the best duelists in the Order, and both had to be 'repaired' by Madame Pompfrey. Not to mention five Unspeakables who had been seriously injured, including the Deputy Director himself. And to top it off, they had nothing to show for the fight.

Minor indeed.

"Nymphadora was on guard duty at the time," Dumbledore continued, earning a glare from the young Auror when he used her first name. "She managed to call for help before being - "

"If you could get to the point, Albus," Moody growled, interrupting the Headmaster as he took a swig from his flask. The paranoid ex-Auror seemed rather surly after having broken four ribs.

Impatient too.

"But of course, Alastor" Dumbledore replied cheerfully, earning a twisted scowl from his old comrade. "We were able to identify the one who did it, and. . . . . well. . . . .ah. . . . . take a look."

With a wave of his hand, the Headmaster conjured an image of a raven haired young man. Melissa leaned forward in her seat, looking intently at the illusion of her brother. Her brief view of him at the ministry had been from a distance, and she had been forced to find cover rather quickly.

Which made the image, effectively, the first close-up she had ever seen of her twin.

Dark hair fell to his shoulders, nearly as long as her own. Surprisingly, Harry didn't look like their father, or at least not like the pictures Melissa had of James Potter. He didn't have glasses for one, and appeared slightly taller than the elder Potter had been, with a lithe but well muscled physique. His wand was raised in the image, with a large, yellow orb exploding from the end. It appeared as though an invisible wind was blowing through his long hair. The famous lightening bolt was above his right eye, and if Melissa looked closely, she thought she could see a smaller scar on his chin.

Apparently she wasn't the only one who noticed the legendary scar, for many of the Order members gasped, staring at the illusion with open shock. Snape showed no such reaction though, but scowled heavily instead, his upper lip curling a bit when he realized it was another Potter. Dumbledore merely watched the whole affair from the head of the table, his blue eyes still twinkling madly.

Out of the various people present that night though, it was the reaction of Mundungus Fletcher which drew the most attention. Upon seeing the illusion of Harry Potter, the ginger haired thief nearly swallowed his grimy pipe, causing clouds of greenish smoke to billow into the air. Mundungus paid no mind as several members started coughing, but stared at the image of the dark haired young man as if he had seen a ghost. Bloodshot eyes dawned with recognition, and one word escaped the old smuggler's mouth.

"Letifer."

* * *

**Another chapter in the books. I originally finished this one about a week ago, before I decided it was crap and re-wrote the whole damn thing. Needless to say, I think this version is much better. The next chapter though, is where the action really starts. Which means it will take me a while to write. I have to go work on 'Of Blood and Power' now, and that should be updated by the third or fifth of July.**

**Next Chapter: Platform Chaos**

**Until then, cheers!**


	4. Platform Chaos

**Summary:** After running away from the Durselys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by those above him, he killed for his power. Discovered by the world that betrayed him, he was forced to accept his destiny. But a person can change a lot over eleven years, and Harry Potter has become something they will never expect.

**Acerbus Angelus: Dark Angel**

* * *

Letifer. 

It was a name known the world over, in every magical town and village from Marrakech to Beijing. From the Amazon Basin to the frozen tundra of the Canadian north. It was a name of myth and legend, shrouded in secrecy and born of shadow. It was a name spoken throughout the dark alleys of Europe; a name never mentioned without a precautionary glance over the shoulder.

It was the name Harry Potter had gone by for more than a decade. The name one raven-haired little boy picked from a random street sign in Little Whinging, Surrey. It wasn't until years later that Harry realized the significance of his chosen alias. . . . .

. . . . . .and what the word really meant to the world.

By then it was too late though. The name Letifer had spread across Europe, and a reputation had gone with it. Mundungus Fletcher had been one of the first to learn of that reputation, and it appeared the old thief had not forgotten.

Of course, Harry reminded himself, not many did.

They had met in Berlin back in '89, about six months before the wall fell. Fletcher had been running a smuggling outfit at the time, taking East German muggles and bringing them across the line.

By magical means, of course.

Harry had joined up right after leaving Marseilles, where the French Aurors had become a little too interested in a certain green-eyed street urchin. He stayed on until the first blows were delivered to the infamous wall.

His ears still recalled the ringing of steel on stone.

The job had been by no means easy. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been all over the operation, and near the end, the East German Stasi had known something was up. More than one smuggling chief ended up in Niesrachun.

With a nice ten year sentence for threatening the International Statute of Secrecy.

The whole gig ended when the wall fell though; which subsequently marked the end of profiteering in the once divided Berlin. Harry left Germany soon after, effectively ending his association with Dung Fletcher.

It would be another three years, and numerous ports of call, before their paths would cross once more. Latin America had been the last place Harry had seen Fletcher, and were he to be honest with himself, he had never expected to hear from the ginger haired smuggler again.

Which is why, that nearly four years after the Panama Run, he was rather surprised to be contacted by old Dung. The elder wizard had mentioned a business opportunity, and Harry had agreed to the proposed meeting. The location was King's Cross, London.

But more specifically, platform nine and three-quarters.

* * *

There was no such thing as a coincidence. 

That was another lesson Harry had learned early on. There were no opportunistic accidents, and there was no such thing as an unplanned connection. Knowing this beforehand, Harry felt his heightened suspicion was easily justified.

He didn't bother explaining his paranoia. He possessed that naturally.

The twenty-ninth of June was the day the Hogwarts Express was due to arrive at platform nine and three-quarters. It was the last day of term for students, which effectively made it the beginning of the summer holiday.

It was also the day Harry was arranged to meet with the ginger haired thief.

In his neck of the woods, it was common knowledge that Fletcher owed Albus Dumbledore for that time in Zurich. The old smugger was in the Headmaster's debt, and was even rumored to be a member of Dumbledore's illustrious Order.

Which only served to increase Harry's paranoia. Fletcher had a business opportunity? Merely a week after Harry escaped the Mugwump's grasp?

As previously stated, there was no such thing as a coincidence.

* * *

The platform was packed with eagerly waiting families as a tall, lithe figure gracefully wove his way through the gathered. The beat-up leather jacket and black beret blended in with the crowd, hiding the man's true appearance. He walked across the platform with a fake limp; his head bowed slightly to hide vibrant green eyes. 

It was an old game by now.

If things were different, if his parents were still alive, one may wonder as to why the Boy Who Lived would wish to go unnoticed. Especially in a crowd where many considered him their savior.

The Martyr of the Light, he thought bitterly.

But things were different. His parents weren't alive, and Harry James Potter was not at platform nine and three-quarters. No, he had become Letifer once more. And to Letifer, camouflage and disguise were second nature.

Such skills had been necessary. . . . . . . . .during the war.

Emerald eyes searched the crowd intently, looking for any sign of a threat. Or of any possible pinch. Anyone who acted entirely too casual, who read the same page of the_ Prophet_ for a minute too long, whose body was too tense and stance too wary. Trained senses, developed during a life beyond the law, easily spotted these minor flaws, and the various Ministry personnel and Order members stationed around the platform.

They were so nondescript they stood out.

The tough looking man with short gray hair, standing with his back to a column? An Auror if Harry had ever seen one. As was the bald, dark skinned man with a gold hoop in his right ear; standing next to a young woman with neon pink hair. Harry remembered them both from the Department of Mysteries the week before. The bushel of redheads situated near the luggage carts? They practically had the Order mark branded on them.

Emerald eyes froze however, and Harry nearly took a dive, when he saw the person standing next to the redheads. He was completely unfamiliar; in fact, Harry was certain he had never seen the graying man before.

No, it was not the appearance that struck him, but the man's aura. The shabby, threadbare overcoat could not hide the animalistic ease with which the man carried himself, and the golden-brown eyes gave away his true nature.

A werewolf.

Harry immediately headed in opposite direction of the lycanthrope, losing himself in the crowds so as to smother his scent. It would not do for the wolf to get whiff of him, as that would no doubt draw unwanted attention.

And the questions that would follow. They always did.

Looking back over his shoulder, Harry let out a sigh of relief. The tired looking man appeared not to have noticed his presence, and was still talking to the heavily scarred Auror with an electric blue eye standing nearby.

One more from the Ministry.

Throwing a glance at the giant clock towering above the platform, Harry made his way to the iron-wrought archway that separated the magical world from that of muggle. Passing a sandy haired woman, he deftly nicked her issue of The_ Daily Prophet_, slipping it into his coat with an unseen motion. The lift happened in the blink of an eye, and he kept walking as the unaware victim babbled to her neighbor in a thick Irish accent.

Improvisation, Harry thought to himself as he took the paper out. Folding it in half, he held The_ Prophet_ in front of him, his right hand gripping the wand hidden within the pages. The movement was simple, and would seem unnecessary to most, but Harry had learned his lessons long ago.

Nearing the iron-wrought archway, he quickly found who he was looking for.

Standing next to the ticket inspector's booth was a ginger haired man who was wearing a knee-length muggle trench coat. It was covered with what appeared to be a pile of dirty rags. The attire didn't fool Harry though; who knew the man carried an assortment of contraband items within his clothing, hidden among the numerous pockets and folds. The man could easily set up shop with what he had on him. And those bloodshot eyes were as watchful as any.

The old thief hadn't survived this long by being reckless.

"Fletcher," Harry greeted, coming up beside the ginger haired man. "This is a long way from Mexico City."

"Letifer," Mundungus replied, taking a healthy drag from his grimy, black pipe. Green smoke billowed into the air, and Harry absentmindedly recognized the scent of a half dozen illegal herbs. "Mexico City, eh? I could o' sworn it was 'Avana."

Evaluating the smuggler with blazing eyes, a slow smirk eventually spread across Harry' s face. He gave a brief nod, and both men visibly relaxed. It was the same Fletcher, all right. The same Fletcher from the old crowd; the same Fletcher who taught him how to spot the German Aurors in Berlin.

"You said something about a business opportunity?" Harry asked, watching the platform for anyone who appeared too interested in their conversation.

"Aye," Fletcher said, taking another drag of his pipe. "It was a snatch an' run job, four days ago. Kinda like that time in Puerto Limon."

Harry nodded shortly, showing that he understood. "So now you have contraband hotter than the Sahara," he commented, the words flowing off his tongue, "and you need to swing a deal."

"Aye," Fletcher said, nodding his own shaggy head.

What's the cargo?" Harry asked, secretly casting a silencing charm from the wand within the paper.

"Cauldrons," Dung said, blowing more smoke into the air. A tall, attractive blond started coughing as she walked by, and her lip curled slightly as she found the source of the smoke. Old Dung merely gave her the middle finger, and the woman stomped away with a scandalized look on her face.

"Numbers?" Harry inquired, shaking his head in exasperation. Same old Dung, all right.

"Two dozen," Fletcher supplied. "At a safe-'ouse down in Knockturn."

"Pewter?" Harry asked.

"Aye." Another drag, more smoke.

"Size?"

"Standard Two," Fletcher said.

"Where from?" Harry suddenly demanded, emerald eyes narrowing.

"I don't want any cheap Korean imports, Fletcher," he continued vehemently, eyes flashing now. "That shit's ruined the market these last couple of years."

"Its not, its not," the old thief quickly reassured. "This stuff is prime stuff, Grade A product; straight from the forges of Warsaw."

Harry eyed the other man suspiciously, before giving a reluctant nod. Inwardly, his mind was buzzing with calculations and possible venues of trade. He could get in contact with some people he knew, and swing a deal overnight. If the market was good, and he got the fixed rate, he could easily clear two hundred galleons.

While his mind worked, his eyes noticed the scarlet steam engine chugging to a halt on the other side of the platform. Meanwhile, his noise absentmindedly registered a strange smell coming from the man beside him. Even through the smoke-filled haze, he could make out the distinct scent.

Emerald eyes widened, before narrowing dangerously, and a series of expletives sped through his mind. With an obscure flick of his wrist, there was a wand in Harry's left hand, while his grip tightened on the one hidden within the paper. Clandestinely pointing it at the ginger haired thief, emerald eyes searched frantically for a way out.

Fletcher was nervous.

* * *

Melissa lifted Hedwig's cage as the Hogwarts Express puffed to a standstill. Dragging her trunk behind her, she made her way off the train and across the crowded platform. Emerald eyes searched the crowd as she said goodbye to her friends, looking for the familiar graying hair of her godfather. 

Remus stood waiting near the luggage racks, looking rather tired as the full moon approached. Nevertheless, he pulled her into a tight embrace when she walked up, silently offering his fierce protection

"Is he here?" Melissa asked quietly as Remus released her. The werewolf needed no clarification, but nodded shortly in response.

"Mundungus gave us the signal," he said softly, and quickly grabbed her arm as Melissa turned her head. "Don't look! I know it's hard, but we have to act like he isn't here. Mundungus is handling it by himself, and he knows Harry better than we do."

Melissa nodded reluctantly, resisting the urge to look over at the iron-wrought archway. She knew Remus was right, and hopefully everything would turn out fine. Despite those thoughts, Melissa couldn't help but feel that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Frowning slightly, her eyes searched the platform once more, for the first time realizing the shortage of people. It wasn't really noticeable, but if one looked closely, they would find that the platform was less crowded than usual. And if one searched for specific faces, they would find that several purebloods were not among the gathered. Several prominent purebloods.

Several Voldemort-supporting purebloods.

The second the intuition came to her, Melissa knew that she was right. The large forms of Crabbe and Goyle Senior were missing from the platform, as was the weedy, slouched form of the elder Nott. The platinum head of Lucius Malfoy was not to be found; though his wife Narcissa, a tall, attractive blond, could be seen with their son Draco.

They were making their way to the iron-wrought archway. Very quickly.

"Remus," Melissa said, catching the werewolf's attention. Following her gaze, Lupin turned just in time to see the Malfoys disappear through the magical barrier. Frowning slightly, the graying man watched as several other pureblood families followed, all walking at a fast pace.

"Alastor!" Remus said, the color draining from his face. "We need to get out of here. Now!"

The grizzled ex-Auror had been watching the whole thing with his magical eye, and appeared to have come to the same conclusion. "Kingsley! Tonks!" Mad-Eye barked, pulling an object from his voluminous cloak. The two Aurors rushed forward with questioning expressions, drawing their wands as they did.

"We're about to be attacked," Moody growled, waving his wand at the object, which proved to be a muggle rubber duck. The yellow duck started shaking, and gave-off a bluish glow before returning to its normal state.

"Everyone, grab hold," Moody ordered as he held out the Portkey. Melissa and the Order members quickly gathered around Mad-Eye, and right as the paranoid ex-Auror counted to one, a series of cracking noises filled the platform. Screams broke out as the masked figures appeared, and Remus growled an expletive as Moody reached two. . . . .

. . . . . .and was promptly blasted off his feet by a jet of black light. The ex-Auror was knocked backward through the air, and came crashing to a halt as his body slammed into the luggage racks.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_ a Death Eater yelled from behind them. Melissa quickly dove to the side, and the Killing Curse flew over her, impacting with the next person in line. She watched with wide eyes as Sturgis Podmore took the jet of green light in the chest, and the square-jawed wizard fell unceremoniously to the floor.

He was dead.

"Come on!" Remus yelled, summoning the forgotten Portkey as the Death Eaters advanced across the platform. The rubber duck flew into his hand, and the remaining members of the guard quickly rushed toward him without a second thought.

They _were_ outnumbered four to one.

Reaching out a hand, Melissa held a finger to part of the muggle contraption, as did the others. As anguished cries rang-out across the platform, she prepared herself for the familiar jerk behind the navel. Right as Remus counted to three though, a large explosion rippled, causing the entire platform to shake violently. Melissa fell off balance due to the powerful quake, and toppled backward, shock registering on her face as she lost contact with the Portkey. . . . . .

. . . . . .which immediately activated with a rush of wind and a swirl of color. She briefly saw the horrified expression on her godfather's face, before the guard vanished completely, leaving Melissa behind.

* * *

Cold, powerful fury rose in Harry as he gripped his wands, mentally deliberating whether he should leave Dung alive or not. Despite his deadly rage, something clicked in the back of his mind, and he realized the rumor about Fletcher and the Order of the Phoenix was correct. 

The old thief was a member. That was the only possible explanation. Why else would Dung try setting him up? Of course, Harry reminded himself, there were half a dozen bounties on his head, but Fletcher wasn't the type that would sell a bloke out to the hunters. Absentmindedly wondering if he was still worth the same price, Harry raised both wands, fully intent on amputating Dung's legs below the knee.

Harsh punishment was the price for betraying Letifer.

A powerful Cutting Curse was on the tip of his tongue, when a series of cracking sounds filled the platform. Harry spun toward the noise, cursing his luck as he watched two dozen figures apparating onto the scene, all wearing black robes and emotionless white masks.

Death Eaters.

The nearest one had apparated a mere ten feet away, and turned toward Fletcher with his wand raised. It was almost as if they knew where the Order member would be standing.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ the masked figure shouted. A sickly jet of green light sped toward Dung, who took the Killing Curse right in the face, and was dead before his body hit the ground.

Harry, who had watched the whole seen impassively, merely raised an eyebrow as his former associate was taken-out. Letifer had seen too much death to be surprised or sickened by it, and its not like he owed Fletcher anything.

He was just pondering how he should react, when the Death Eater made the choice for him. Turning his wand on the raven-haired young man, the idiot bellowed, _"Avada Kedavra!"_ effectively making the biggest mistake of his life.

And the last.

Harry merely flicked his wand, summoning a nearby masked figure to take the blow for him. The first Death Eater watched in horror as his comrade intercepted the Killing Curse, and fell dead to the platform below. Raising his left wand, Harry muttered the first dark spell he ever learned.

"_Crucio!"_

The crimson beam hit the Death Eater in the chest, and he too dropped to the ground, writhing in agony as Harry held him under the unforgivable Cruciatus Curse. The man's screaming penetrated the chaos that surrounded them, and the whole platform momentarily froze. The other Death Eaters turned in spite of themselves to watch as their comrade was tortured.

They quickly came to their senses though, and a half dozen robed figures rushed toward him. _"Avada Kedavra!"_ Harry intoned, taking out the lead man with a Killing Curse. He was forced to duck as five more were sent back at him, and canceling the Cruciatus, Harry flicked his right wand at the tortured Death Eater. The twitching man rose from the ground, and with another flick of his wand, Harry banished him toward the others. Hurtling through the air at high speed, the man flew into another Death Eater, sending both of them crashing into a nearby pillar.

"_Elecstis Striven!"_ Harry shouted, thrusting each wand forward in a sharp motion. Twin bolts of lightening flew from each wand, causing the air to ripple with energy. Two of the Death Eaters tried raising a joint shield, but the forks of lightening tore through it easily. Both of them were blasted off their feet, and were thrown halfway across the platform as electricity surged through their bodies. They crashed into a concrete column, and slid to the ground, their nervous systems fried beyond repair.

Five down, Harry mentally counted. That left one more Death Eater nearby.

"_Ardavian Flarick!"_ said Death Eater yelled, making a slashing movement with his wand. A streak of purple flame sped toward Harry, who was forced to conjure a shield out of thin air. The curse impacted with the dark green dome, which deflected it into the ground.

The power behind the spell was impressive, and Harry instantly knew he was facing a member of the elite Inner Circle. True enough, the Death Eater ripped of his white mask, revealing a long, pale, twisted face. A face Harry had seen before, months ago on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

Antonin Dolohov, the wizard who murdered the Prewetts.

Dolohov grinned, raising his wand as he assumed a formal dueling stance. Harry did likewise, a dark smirk spreading across his face as he prepared to battle a worthy opponent.

Rarely did he get to.

"_Blavania!"_ he shouted instantly, pointing his left wand at the Death Eater. A scarlet beam shot forth, reeking of darkness as it sped toward the older wizard. Dolohov waved his wand in a complex pattern, conjuring a dome that flickered a sickly black.

The curse was completely absorbed by the shield, which Dolohov lowered as he yelled, _"Avada Kedavra!"_ The green light sped toward Harry, who merely flicked his wand in a lazy gesture. A wooden Hogwarts trunk, abandoned in the chaos, flew from the ground, intercepting the Killing Curse. The trunk burst into flames as the curse hit, and fell to the platform, smoldering.

"_Novus Incendio!"_ Harry muttered, deriving an idea from the burning box. An enormous ball of fire erupted from his wand, heading toward the pale man. Dolohov was forced to summon a human shield immediately, and a nearby corpse launched from the ground, catching fire as the giant flame consumed it.

_"Arvis Nylan!"_ Dolohov sneered in response, flicking his wrist with a sharp motion. A thin, orange beam pulsed from the slender piece of wood, and Harry dove to the ground to avoid it. Rolling back onto his feet, the raven-haired young man snapped of a series of Piercing Curses from each wand.

Dolohov managed to avoid most of the rapid fire, but one angry red spark flew under his guard, tearing into the Death Eater's right shoulder. The man gave a painful hiss, rage crossing his twisted face as he glared at Harry.

With another nasty sneer, Dolohov began launching an array of dark curses toward the younger man. Twisting and rolling, Harry was forced to summon forgotten possessions from the concrete platform. The various items blocked the lethal spells, but there was one too many, and he couldn't avoid the malicious curse that reeked of darkness. A scream of pain escaped Harry's mouth as the red beam hit. The Flesh Eating Curse ate into his right forearm, tearing apart the skin and sending blood down his wrist.

"_Avada Kedavra! Oricnay! Sandovan Faytus!"_ he bellowed, jerking his wand as emerald eyes flashed with fury. The curses were cast instantaneously, sending Dolohov into a defensive mode. The pale wizard dodged the Killing Curse, right as a powerful explosion ripped through the platform. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see the scarlet mass of the Hogwarts Express, where the explosion seemed to originate from.

The train was burning.

Antonin Dolohov, unbalanced due to the quake that followed the blast, failed to avoid Harry's second curse. The powerful stream of yellow acid burned through his robes, eating into the pale man's torso.

Distracted by the immense pain, Dolohov failed to dodge the round, magical saw that tore through the air. The black, razor-sharp blade hit the Death Eater in the previously injured shoulder, cutting through flesh, muscle, and bone. The Azkaban escapee screamed in pure agony as the entire arm was crudely amputated, and the limb fell to the ground, dead fingers still clutching Dolohov's wand.

Ignoring the pain that came from his blood-soaked forearm, Harry stalked toward his fallen opponent, who was now lying on his back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The familiar stench of blood and gore assaulted Harry's nose as he approached, the foul odor bringing forth memories he had fought to suppress.

_The blood. . . . . . it had been everywhere._

Standing above Dolohov, Harry looked down into the man's pain-filled eyes, eyes that nonetheless burned with hatred. If Harry were to walk away now, if Dolohov were to receive immediate medical attention, the man would live. The loss of blood from his shoulder was substantial, but a magical limb could replace the arm.

He had seen it done before.

Harry had no intention of walking away though, and he would be damned if Dolohov received medical aid. Raising one basilisk hide boot, he brought the heel crashing down on the man's throat.

No mercy.

Hate-filled eyes widened in shock as his windpipe was crushed, and with one last ragged gasp, Antonin Dolohov was dead.

Reaching down, Harry pried the Death Eater's wand from the life-less fingers. Giving it an experimental wave, he felt no connection with the wand, and snapped the slender piece of wood in half. Throwing the remains aside, Harry looked down at the mangled corpse of his opponent with expressionless green eyes.

However, his head snapped around as a tortured cry reached his ears, and Harry suddenly remembered where he was. The platform was literally destroyed, the scarlet steam engine sat in ruins, and the remaining people sobbed hysterically over the bodies of their dead loved ones.

The tortured cry reached his ears once more, and on the opposite side of the platform, Harry found the source of the noise. Writhing on the ground near the twisted and bent luggage carts, a young woman with dark red hair screamed in agony.

Standing above her, a robed figure smirked maliciously as he applied the Cruciatus Curse. The man was tall and skeletal, with pale skin, long spidery fingers, a demonic face, and red slits for eyes. Eyes Harry had seen before. Eyes that had haunted his dreams and plagued his nightmares as a child. Crimson red eyes.

The eyes of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

* * *

She had been holding her own rather well, if Melissasaid so herself. Despite being left behind, she had quickly adapted to the situation, the chaos and screams fueling her anger. She had stunned more than one Death Eater, and was pretty sure she got Rookwood with a nasty Bone-Breaking Curse. 

And then she saw him. The snake-like face and blood red eyes. She had been too shocked to move. Despite the numerous Death Eaters, Melissa had not expected Voldemort to come himself. She had just stood there as he approached, her wand pointed uselessly at the ground.

And the next thing she knew, there was pain beyond pain. Pain beyond comprehension. Pain that she had only experienced once before, on a tragic night little more than a year ago.

The night a monster rose once more.

Canceling the spell, Voldemort looked down at her writhing form, his upper lip curling in disgust. "It appears you do not know that which I seek, Potter," the high, cold voice said. "Pity, for I may have left you alive."

"Nevertheless," Voldemort continued as remnants of pain stabbed through her body. "I have nothing more to say to you. You have irked me for too often, Potter. For far too long."

Forcing emerald eyes opened, Melissa tried to ignore the lingering pain. She briefly saw the yew wand pointed at her head, and as the words formed on Voldemort's serpentine tongue, she waited for the sickly jet of green light.

"Avada Ked - "

Before Voldemort could finish the incantation though, a powerful beam of grey light came from over Melissa's shoulder. Emerald eyes widened as the curse hit Voldemort in the chest. The Dark Lord, caught unaware, was thrown backward across the platform. Her jaw hanging open in shock, she could only stare as the skeletal wizard began rising slowly to his feet.

From behind her, a blood-soaked hand roughly grabbed Melissa's arm. Turning, emerald orbs met piercing eyes of the same color, and in a strange yet oddly familiar voice, she heard:

"Come with me if you want to live."

* * *

Another chapter? Well la-de-freakin'-da! Looks like we got ourselves a somewhat reliable writer here.

No?

Theoretically, this chapter was supposed to be posted after I updated Of Blood and Power. Unfortunately, my laptop (the one I paid a shitload for) decided to be a pain in the ass. I'm not exactly a 'computer expert', so I really can't tell you what in the hell's wrong with it. All I know is that it crashed, and chapter 13 of my other story went with it.

Ah, well, shit happens. Unfortunately, my computer won't be working until the very expensive replacement parts arrive via postal service. Which means I had to write and post this chapter from the shitty-ass local library.

Which sucks, to be frank. I solely place blame for any grammer and spelling errors on the crappy computer I was forced to use. Honestly, it wasn't my fault.

Until next time, cheers.


	5. Running Commentary

**Summary:** After running away from the Dursleys at a young age, he learned to survive on his own. Faced by the cruelties of a harsh world, he fought for his freedom. Challenged by those above him, he killed for his power. Discovered by the world that betrayed him, he was forced to accept his destiny. But a person can change a lot over eleven years, and Harry Potter has become something they would never expect.

**Acerbus Angelus: Dark Angel**

* * *

"H-harry?" his sister stammered, her emerald eyes widening in shock as they met his own. Her gaze immediately flickered to his forehead where the damning scar was now exposed, as though seeking confirmation, seeking proof that he was truly there. Both siblings were forced to duck as a jet of green light flew too close for comfort, and Harry barely avoided the Killing Curse that impacted with an elderly man instead. 

"Come on!" he snapped, dragging Melissa to her feet with his blood-soaked hand, the other retaining a tight grip on his wand. Grasping her by the arm, Harry steered the red head toward the iron-wrought archway, knowing it would be easier to evade capture amidst the chaos and confusion of the muggle world.

"You want to stay alive, you do exactly what I say," he told Melissa, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he did. Voldemort had risen once more, his crimson red eyes scanning the platform, searching for the prey that got away. Instinctively, Harry led them into the panicked crowd, using the unknown bodies as cover against the Dark Lord's wand. "Don't move unless I tell you, don't make a sound unless I tell you."

The red head briefly opened her mouth as they neared the archway, no doubt intending some indignant retort, but was cut off as three robed figures apparated directly behind them. "Drop!" Harry shouted, pushing Melissa to the ground with his blood-soaked hand, just as one of the Death Eaters yelled, _"Avada Kedavra!"_ The raven-haired youth dove to the ground as well, the Killing Curse flying overhead, hitting the ticket inspector's booth, which immediately burst into flames.

He rolled back to his feet in a single motion, holstering the wand as his left foot lashed at the nearest Death Eater in an old, Shanghai street fighting technique. The masked figure fell to the platform, doubled-over in pain as he struggled to breathe. Harry continued the attack, his fingers snapping together, and in one fluid motion, the edge of his rigid hand came crashing down on the back of the man's neck.

He crumpled to the platform, down for the count.

Turning toward the remaining Death Eaters, Harry was faintly surprised to see one of them get blasted into the air by a strong Stunner, courtesy of the auburn-haired girl he had briefly forgotten about.

That left one Death Eater still standing, and dark servant had no chance.

Harry kept his wand holstered, preferring non-magical defensive for close range, and easily sidestepped the pain curse shot at him. With an unperceivable motion, he pulled a thin, double-edged blade from a sheath at his belt. Ducking another curse, he pivoted, coming up beside the Death Eater and slashing at the man's wrist, half severing the hand from the arm it belonged to. With a strangled cry, the wand clattered to the ground, the hand useless, and Harry went in for the kill. The razor-sharp blade arced across the man's throat in a surgical fashion, and blood spewed out of the ruptured arteries as the neck snapped back.

The Death Eater fell to his knees, dead before he hit the ground, and a slow clapping erupted across the oddly silent platform.

The raven-haired young man spun on his heel, mentally cursing himself for being caught off guard. Emerald eyes widened as they spotted the tall, skeletal wizard standing nearby, and with another nonverbal curse, Harry realized exactly _who_ his audience was.

"Bravo, bravo," said Lord Voldemort slowly, his crimson eyes riveted on the dark-haired combatant. Luckily for Harry, at some point the tie holding his hair back had come undone, and the long, raven locks now hung freely, shrouding his face and concealing the infamous scar.

Voldemort didn't recognize him.

Of course, Harry thought as the Dark Lord drew his wand, there was also a downside to that. Voldemort might not attack if he knew he was facing the Boy Who Lived. At least not before knowing what his opponent was truly capable of. Something that Harry had no intention of revealing.

"Tom Riddle, I presume?"

The name had the desired effect Harry was going for. Voldemort flinched visibly at the reminder of his muggle past, and Harry took the opening presented. In his current condition, with the heavy loss of blood and his magical reserves near depletion, he knew he would be no match for the Dark Lord.

But then again, the great Letifer was known to be conventionally unconventional, and Harry could hardly live down to his fame for improvising.

Flicking his wrist, the wand reappeared in his left hand, the right going for a glass vial attached to his potions belt. The small container was filled with a fine, black powder, and Harry quickly activated the Time-Release Charm before throwing it at the Dark Lord.

As desired, the vial exploded mid-throw, the fine powder billowing into the air, and the platform was overcome with darkness. The effects of Black-Out Powder, a rare mineral deposit found only in the deep-core mines of Southern Peru, obtained illegally through a vast network of smugglers, thieves, and crooked officials.

Handy, it was.

"_Accio_," Harry muttered, pointing his wand in the general direction his sister had been. The red head gave a startled yelp upon being summoned, and Harry caught her by the arm as she flew through the darkness. Voldemort, who was trying in vain to dispel the black cloud that harbored his prey, blindly raised his wand and pointed it in desperation, shouting an incantation right as Harry disapparated.

Without a sound, the last Potters vanished from platform nine and three-quarters.

* * *

Melissa opened her eyes slowly, almost reluctantly, not quite sure what she would find. One moment she had been at the train platform, astrange cloud obscuring everything in her view, and the next thing she knew, it went dark. She had been pressed very hard from all directions; she couldn't breathe; iron bands were tightening around her chest; emerald eyes were being forced back into her head; her eardrums were being pushed deeper into her skull, and then . . . 

. . . . . .she gulped great lung-fulls of air and her open eyes were streaming slightly. It was almost as though she had been forced through a tight rubber tube.

She had arrived in what appeared to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety, wooden chairs. Slightly different from the bloody, corpse-riddled platform, and her comprehension catching up to her senses, Melissa realized that she had just apparated for the first time in her life.

"You all right?" a voice asked from beside her, causing the red head to jump slightly. Turning, she met Harry's solicitous eyes, and suddenly remembered who she was with.

"Fine," Melissa answered, rubbing her ears, which felt as though they had been left at the platform rather reluctantly. "But I'm pretty sure I prefer the Floo."

Harry shot her an incredulous look at that, perhaps doubting her sanity, and the auburn-haired girl couldn't help but laugh. In her mirth, she failed to notice the calculating gleam in his emerald eyes.

"Was that your first time apparating?" he asked, as Melissa followed him through the crowded waiting room. It was scarcely less quiet than the platform had been, for many of the patients were moaning in pain, their clothes covered in blood. Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were scurrying up and down the rows, asking questions and scribbling notes on their clipboards.

"Of course," Melissa answered, inwardly wondering how the victims from the platform had been transferred to St. Mungo's so quickly. "I'm not of age, yet."

Harry merely evaluated her with a raised eyebrow. "Neither am I," he said, leading her toward a plump, blond witch who was seated behind a desk marked INQUIRIES.

The line leading up to the desk was rather long, and her brother apparently had no intention of waiting. "Excuse me!" said a brown haired woman indignantly as Harry cut past, completely ignoring the woman's outburst. Her dark-haired sibling made his way to the front of the line and simply stared at the wizard who was waiting next. The young man seemed to shrink under the hooded green gaze, his face paled, and he quickly took a step back, effectively stumbling out of queue.

Apparently satisfied, her smirking brother turned back toward the receptionist's desk. Melissa raised an eyebrow at his. . . .technique. . . .but chose not to comment. She had the feeling it would be of no use, and the unknown St. Mungo's was more interesting than an impromptu discussion on ethics.

The wall behind the desk was covered in notices and posters, but it was the large portrait of a witch with long, silver ringlets that caught her eye. There was a gold plaque at the bottom of the frame that read:

**DILYS DERWENT**

**St. Mungo's Healer, 1722 - 1741**

**Headmistress of Hogwarts School of **

**Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1741 - 1768**

Dilys was searching the reception area closely, as though looking for someone. Her canvas eyes widened slightly as they met Melissa's gaze, and the painted witch gave a small wink, before she walked sideways out of her portrait and vanished.

Melissa barely had time to ponder what just happened when the blond, plump witch behind the desk barked, "NEXT!"

"What is it?" she asked in a bored tone as Harry stepped forward. The raven-haired young man merely raised an eyebrow, before banging his right forearm onto the desk, splattering the receptionist and her piles of parchment with drops of crimson blood.

"I seem to have been hit with some sort of curse," he said in a soft tone, that nonetheless conveyed intense dislike. Raising his injured forearm once more, the receptionist could only stare, her blond hair speckled with blood, as Harry pulled the arm of his jacket down to the elbow.

A simple action, the effect macabre.

It elicited a sharp intake of breath from the plump witch, and Melissa visibly paled at the sight that greeted her eyes. From the wrist to the elbow, Harry's forearm was completely devoid of flesh, exposing the powerful muscles that resided below. Blood poured freely from the open wound, as though the skin had been cruelly torn away by some creature with razor-sharp teeth. And as Harry lazily drummed his fingers on the receptionist's desk, Melissa could see the tendons in his forearm moving back and forth.

"S-spell d-damage?" the blond witch asked weakly, almost as though she dreaded the answer. There was a green tinge to her chubby face, and she appeared to be fighting the inclination to vomit.

"A Flesh-Eating Curse, if I'm not mistaken," Harry confirmed in the same soft tone, his cold eyes never leaving the receptionist's face. "Silly me."

The witched gulped, the green tinge on her face becoming more apparent. "Sp-spell da-damage," she stuttered once more, pointy a chubby finger toward the double doors beside the desk. "F-fourth floor."

Harry merely watched with a raised eyebrow as the plump witch disappeared from sight, and his upper lip curled as a retching sound came from behind the desk. "You coming?" he inquired, seeing the reluctance on Melissa's face.

"Um. . . I. . . . .uh. . . I think I'll. . . uh. . . .stay here." She answered hesitantly, her brain reminding her of what her eyes had just seen.

"Your lose," Harry muttered as he walked through the double doors, leaving Melissa to wait in the crowded reception area. She finally found a seat next to an elderly man who appeared to have switched his arms with his legs, and was now attempting to hold the _Daily Prophet_ between his hairy toes.

Groaning, she turned in her wooden chair, only to come face-to-face with a small girl who was staring at her with owlish, amber eyes. The girl was obviously a victim of some failed magic, for when she opened her mouth to speak, an almost Hedwig-like hoot came out, and her small head rotated 360 degrees.

The action unexpected, the result. . . . . . . . .nauseating.

* * *

He was certainly no stranger to blood, Harry thought as he walked down the narrow corridor, passing the framed portraits of famous Healers, the candles floating near the ceiling illuminating a weary soldier's chosen path. 

His route of escape.

Although the wound on his forearm was both real and unpleasant, it was not enough to immobilize the raven-haired youth. The loss of blood was substantial, yes, and the pain was even worse, but he could still move deliberately, if required; still function properly, if need be.

And still maim efficiently, if cornered.

Besides, blood could be replenished, and for the strong-minded, pain was easily ignored. Reaching the end of the corridor, he turned down a side hall, dismissing the flight of stairs that lead to the upper levels of the hospital.

To be precise, though, it was _Letifer_ who was no stranger to blood. And _that's_ who Harry was. It was a name he had taken as his own, and the identity he had forged by himself.

In the lawless world in which he lived. . . . . . . . .it was all he had.

The innocent child who was Harry James Potter died along with his parents. The Boy Who Lived had taken his place, born in wake of the Dark Lord's defeat. Unbeknownst to the wizarding world, their savior had perished the moment he was left on the Dursleys' doorstep.

It was Letifer who rose from the ashes, so to speak. It was Letifer who survived the Dursleys' callous hand, and who blazed his trail in the harsh world that offered freedom.

And as previously stated, Letifer was no stranger to blood.

Keeping an eye peeled for any watchers, Harry snuck down an empty passageway, mentally reviewing the building's schematics. Blue prints of St. Mungo's were not easily obtained, and it had taken his spy a fair bit of lunch break wandering in order to piece together a rough floor plan of the hospital.

Making a sharp right turn, his injured forearm flared in protest, eliciting a painful hiss from the dark-haired young man, his body reminding him of what the brain chose to ignore. In his current state, he could not move as quickly as he might wish, or with the strength he knew he had.

Pain could be ignored, yes, but perhaps blood should not be.

He had become familiar with his own at a young age, courtesy of Vernon Dursley and the man's irrational hatred for all things 'abnormal'. The portly muggle had a vicious temper and an even shorter fuse, and more than once he took out his anger on the green-eyed boy who had the misfortune of being there.

Of course, Harry reminded himself, that had all ended the moment he snuck out his 'family's' front door on that fateful September morn. His association with blood, though, would only grown stronger.

Glancing down at his watch, Harry quickened his pace, knowing that Dumbledore would shortly arrive. If _he_ had an operative stationed within St. Mungo's, the old man surely had one as well. The hospital was simply too important to go unguarded, and it was probable that at least one member of the staff answered to the Phoenix call.

A probability Harry had banked on. Things had fallen in place better than he could have hoped, though he would not be so arrogant as to claim he had planned it thus.

True, the primary objective had been completed. His sister was out of harm's way. But if Melissa followed him further she could become a liability, and with a single overt action, an enemy as well. And _that_ would jeopardize the whole operation. Which meant he had to lose the auburn-haired girl, preferably in a safe location where Dumbledore and the Order could easily find her.

St. Mungo's offered all that.

The fact that he was actually injured only made it more plausible. Turning once more, Harry walked down a short flight of stairs, the red glow at the end of the corridor signifying an emergency exit. The door leading out to a muggle alley, to the vast London crowds in which he could lose any tail.

Escape was imminent; the pain from his forearm becoming more unbearable with every silent step.

So much for ignoring it, Harry thought as the field dressing began to turn a dark red, his conjured bandages soaked through with crimson blood. The sight was unwelcome, yet somehow reassuring in a twisted sort of way.

Harry could hardly explain it to himself.

Surviving his younger years in Fulcan City, he had become familiar with seeing blood not his own. It wasn't until the war, however, that he had deliberately spilled the blood of those who opposed him. It was then that his wand sought the life of another, and his blade was forever stained a crimson red.

The beast within had howled in triumph, and it was then that the infamous Letifer was born completely, his legacy secured throughout the shadows.

The hospital's emergency exit opened with a flick of his wand, and the young wizard walked through the open doorway, which immediately sealed behind him with a series of locking sounds, once more disappearing into the red brick department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd.

Secretly St. Mungo's.

The warm summer breeze whipped through his long hair as he walked toward the store-lined street, and with another wave of his wand, the dried blood was siphoned off his clothes, the folds of his jacket hiding the still bloody hand as he entered the crowd of late afternoon shoppers.

Not sparing a backward glance, the raven-haired chameleon vanished without a trace.

* * *

Long, dark hair fell into his jaded grey eyes, shrouding the once-handsome face of Sirius Orion Black. The Azkaban escapee sat in the gloomy kitchen of twelve Grimmauld Place, a metaphorical island in the room full of people. 

Inwardly, Sirius Black mourned.

He mourned for what should have been, had he not made that tragic mistake all those years ago. He mourned for what could have been, had he done what his heart desired on that fateful Halloween night. And most recently, he mourned for what might have been, had he only the opportunity to speak with his godson.

One chance was all he asked for. Could the Gods not grant him that?

The ruling emotions at the Order meeting that night were fear mixed with grief and shock, some of the members expressing their sorrow in varying degree. The cruelties of war were making themselves known to those too young to remember.

And those who had chosen to forget.

Details of the day's attack were still vague, but to Sirius, he knew all that was necessary, and the painful result spoke for itself.

Harry.

His godson had been there, had been at the platform during the attack, had been seen at St. Mungo's afterward, and had disappeared from the hospital some time following. His godson was out there somewhere, wounded from what Melissa said, and possibly too paranoid to seek medical attention.

He was hurt, and most likely alone. And for the last of the Blacks that was all that mattered. For others in the Order, the damage was more wide-spreading. Sturgis Podmore and Dung Fletcher had been among the dead, and the remains of Emmeline Vance were later discovered, her body only identifiable after multiple signature scans.

But their lose had no effect on Sirius. It was only the lose of a green-eyed boy that did. Harry was gone once more, so soon after Sirius had found him. And as that realization sunk in, the former Marauder couldn't help but feel empty inside.

Once more he had failed in his duty as a godfather. And the lose was almost more than Sirius Black could take.

He _would not_ fail again.

* * *

Many miles outside of London, along the banks of a dirty river, the silence of night was broken by a faint _pop, _and a tall, hooded figure appeared out of thin air. For a moment they stood completely still, obsidian eyes piercing the darkness for any sign of a threat, long fingers gripping a wand from within their robes. 

Apparently satisfied that no danger was imminent, the figure set off toward the cluster of buildings with a long, silent stride, the black cloak billowing behind them in ominous fashion.

With the summer breeze whipping around the hem of their robes, the figure quickly made their way through the rows of dilapidated housing, briefly wondering why a filthy muggle village had been chosen for the regional headquarters.

Though in a way, the tall figure reasoned as they darted through a narrow alley, the location did have its brilliance. The village could easily have been one of a hundred others across Great Britain, all seemingly identical in fashion, and as such, offering safety in their number.

Some of the street lamps along the cobbled road where broken; the figure walking swiftly between patches of light and the surrounding darkness. Ironically enough, the twisted pattern was an apt description of the figure's current situation.

_Wavering between Light and Dark, moving too fast to be ensnared by either. Finding refuge in the medium, in the grey that neither overlord would ever understand._

Mentally sneering, the cloaked figure walked deeper into the labyrinth of brick houses, turning sharply as they reached a street named Spinner's End.

Soft boots echoed quietly on the cobbles, the hood of the cloak obscuring the traveler's face as they passed boarded and broken windows. Finally reaching the last house on the street, the figure could see a faint light glowing through the curtain of a downstairs window.

Knocking on the door in a prearranged pattern, they threw back the hood of their cloak, revealing the sallow face, lank hair, and obsidian eyes of a man in his late thirties.

"Da?" came the response from the other side; the Russian voice smooth yet rigid, conveying the fact that the door would remain closed until the visitor's identity was confirmed. The tall man rolled his obsidian eyes. Zabini and the boy were, needless to say, paranoid. A trait they no doubt developed during the war, along with a fondness for complicated patterns, unbreakable codes, and a unique style of guerrilla tactics.

"Its Snape, you imbecile," the sallow man sneered in response, breathing in the smell of dirty river water. "CN - 72368." There was a pause from the other side as the code was confirmed, and faint growling sounds could be heard from within, no doubt coming from the crups they used to spot infiltrators.

Resembling a Jack Russell terrier in both size and appearance, the magical creatures were nonetheless vicious in a fight, and extremely loyal to their master. Identified by a distinct forked tail, the crup's sense of smell was unparalleled, and the small buggers would eat just about anything, making them excellent guard dogs.

Finally, a series of clicking sounds ensued, and the reinforced door swung open, revealing the familiar face of a young man with shoulder length black hair and piercing green eyes. A wand was held habitually in his right hand, and as the youth began to speak, Severus Snape could see the infamous scar upon his forehead.

"Hello, Delta."

* * *

**Um. . . . . . . . . **. . . . . . . .I can't think of anything to say. 

It's an odd feeling, I can tell you that much. Certainly unusual. Almost as though I have verbal constipation. I simply don't know what to do. I suppose I could respond to the 103 reviews I got for chapter four, but it's really early in the morning. . . . . . .

. . . . . ..and I just don't want to.

You see (_holds out hands in figurative gesture, then remembers you can't see him_) I, Dalyon, have the established custom of posting new chapters at **1:17 in the fucking morning!**

It's really an unpleasant habit I must break, _(luckily for me I don't sleep) _and I fear the problem may be psychological. I can't be positive though, for my shrink will no longer look me in the eyes. I'm not sure why exactly, but it may be due to the fact that the left one twitches in a rhythmic pattern, kinda like morse code.

I tried SOS _(still waiting for a response)_.

**Anywhooo!** Until that mysterious signal comes back, I'll see you on the flipside.

Or something like that.


End file.
